


(Everything Feels Right)

by Toast_Senpai



Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Living Together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2018-06-30
Packaged: 2019-05-30 23:09:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15106703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toast_Senpai/pseuds/Toast_Senpai
Summary: Ross finds inspiration.





	(Everything Feels Right)

**Author's Note:**

> I haven’t been in a writing/creative mood for a while now even though I’m surrounded by such good material. Trying to force yourself to write is difficult but I’m not gonna give up so easily (even if it takes some extra time).

_There is so much honesty about the edge of a forest on a summer night when it’s humid out. Everything is draped in a dying smoky blue, the sun an hour gone, no clouds save for a few bruising streaks at the skyline. Cicadas and tree frogs battle their songs and lightening bugs sparkle while the far off thunk of fireworks adds to the evening soundtrack. Nothing beats the smell of the clear forest essence wafting on each shift of breeze, a dynamic mix of wildflowers and sunbaked wood. It’s sticky, and there are gnats and mosquitoes, but there’s just_ something _so peaceful about it-_

“What’re you writing?”

Ross clicks away from the open word document, forcibly pulled out of his thoughts by Trott. He isn’t _ashamed_ of this or anything, but it had been instinctual to hide it. He blinks a few times, then opens it again with a shrug. He’s suddenly aware that his legs have gone numb, and they are starting to tingle under the laptop’s weight.

“Just doing a little scene practice,” Ross says, shifting. He’s been in a terrible slump lately with his book. It had started off so strong, too. But months later he has finally hit the first block.

Trott leans into the back of the chair, cheek brushing against Ross’ own as he reads over the text. Then Trott gives a nod.

“I can definitely tell you were inspired by our last trip to America,” Trott hums. He slides a hand into Ross’ hair, fluffing it. “Should we be planning another?”

Ross closes the laptop lid. His eyes fall shut as Trott teases the graying strands at his temple. “Perhaps,” he mumbles.

Alex’s voice yells from the other side of the house, in the kitchen. “Guys, you better come get this while it’s hot.”

Trott lets his hand slid away, and Ross is grounded again.

“I’m surprised he didn’t make a joke about his meat,” Trott says.

Ross huffs a laughs. “Maybe he’s not so confident this time. He _is_ trying something new.”

Trott rolls his eyes as Ross follows him across the room. “If you can call stroganoff _new_.”

Before Trott can round the corner, Ross grabs his arm to stop him. Trott raises an eyebrow.

“Let’s just… be supportive,” Ross whispers. “He’s in one of those moods again.”

Trott frowns. “If it was just a mood it wouldn’t be lasting more than a week.”

“Turning thirty really got to him. You saw how he was at the party.” Ross peeks into the kitchen. Alex’s back is to them. He's busy moving around dirty dishes. Ross pats Trott’s arm. “He knows we can’t make money from games for our entire lives. If he wants to play around with the idea of cooking professionally, I say we encourage him.”

Ross can tell Trott is biting his tongue. They both know the only thing Alex can cook is beef. They’ve been guinea pigs the entire week and most of what Alex has served has been either under seasoned or burnt beyond recognition.

Trott sighs. He smiles, though. “It’s not the _worst_ idea he’s had.”

“Exactly. It’s nothing like when he turned twenty-seven and wanted to start making dildos.”

They both cracked at that one and forced themselves into the kitchen. Alex squinted at them, face flushed a pretty pink, white apron splattered with cream sauce. He had a glass of red wine in one hand, a knife in the other.

“Finally. Come on, I set the table already,” Alex says, and points the knife at said preparations.

Ross and Trott take up their spots. The meal actually _does_ look nice this time, like Alex had put a lot of effort into it. The good plates are out, cloth napkins folded into a triangle overtop each. The large pot of stroganoff sits in the middle, wispy steam rising to the lights above.

Each men scoop a sizable portion out. Alex stares at them with such greedy anticipation that it makes Ross pause as he’s raising a forkful to his mouth. He stares back, noticing Alex is breathing through barely parted lips. When Alex swallows, and it’s loud in the silent room.

Ross knows then just exactly what he wants to add to his next scene.


End file.
